The American Dream
by CMPerry
Summary: Dean has left Sam and Cas behind in favour of a white-picket-fence, apple-pie life in the suburbs and no one knows why. But when Sam comes to visit, Dean finds himself on the receiving end of a curse that forces its victims to confess their deepest secrets, and he is suddenly at risk of revealing something he has worked very hard to hide.
1. Retired

Sam pulled up outside the restaurant in his new car, a beat up Ford with fading paint and a dent in the driver's side door. He stepped out on to the quiet sidewalk and smiled at the familiar sight of the Impala parked across the street, and his smile only grew wider as he entered the restaurant to see Dean sitting at a small table, already sipping a beer, side by side with a woman with long brown hair and freckles across her nose.

"Sammy!" Dean said, standing up to greet him and pulling him in to a tight hug. "How the hell are you?"

"Great," he said, patting his brother on the back. "How long has it been?"

"Hell if I know, maybe six, seven months?" Dean said, finally releasing Sam from his embrace but still holding him at arm's length to get a good look at him. "Aw man it's good to see you."

"Back off Winchester," said the woman at the table as she stood up to join them, "it's my turn!"

"Hey Annabelle," Sam said, as she pulled him in to a hug almost as tight as his brother's.

"Long time no see," she said, "you look great."

"You too," Sam said, finally taking his seat opposite Annabelle while Dean sat back down beside his girlfriend.

"So how's hunting going?" she asked.

"Oh you know," Sam said, his gaze flickering to Dean, "you win some you lose some."

"Well it's not long 'til deer season now," she said. "You sticking around here for a while? We'd love for you to stay." Sam looked to Dean again, who shrugged slightly.

"It's up to you, man," said Dean. "It'd be great to catch up but if you've got some other… big game that needs catching…"

"Nah, I'm good," said Sam. "Maybe I will stay for a while."

"Great," Annabelle said, smiling. "Let me go get some more drinks, I'll let you two catch up."

"Thanks, baby," Dean said. He paused for a moment until she was out of earshot then turned to his brother.

"So really, how's hunting going?"

"Same as always," said Sam. "Nothing out of the ordinary really. Took down a pretty big nest of vamps in Alabama a couple weeks ago… Hey, you'll never guess what I ganked last week."

"I dunno, chupacabra?"

"Wendigo."

"No way," said Dean, lowering his glass that was only half way to his mouth, looking at his brother with surprise and excitement. "I haven't seen one of them in years."

Sam saw the familiar passion illuminate his brother's eyes and frowned at him. "You're not hunting at all?"

Dean's gaze fell back to his drink. "Nope."

"Not even if a case falls in to your lap?"

"Almost never happens. It's pretty damn quiet out here." He paused and took a sip of his drink. "Saw a couple of werewolves maybe six months ago but I just called another hunter and had him take care of it. Can't risk getting myself tangled up in something that could put Annabelle in danger."

"Don't you miss it?"

"Not really," Dean said, watching the bottom of his beer glass as he rotated it slowly on the table.

"Well I'm pretty sure there's a couple of vamps over in Barry if you wanna - "

"I can't," Dean said sharply, although he glanced up at his brother almost apologetically as he did so. "It's just… I actually did it, man. I got out of the life. How many hunters can say they managed that? I'm not just gonna jump straight back in now I'm finally free."

Sam felt a prickle of irritation. "Free?" he repeated. "I didn't realise hunting with me was such a burden."

"C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

"Well what do you mean?" Sam asked, his voice low but his temper fraying. "Last I checked being a hunter was all you ever wanted and now you're playing house in the suburbs and you won't even gank a vamp if it dances ass-naked in front of you - "

Dean cut him off with a sharp kick under the table as Annabelle returned from the bar with the drinks. Sam switched on a smile and thanked her as she handed him a beer, but a short silence followed as Annabelle sat back down and looked from brother to brother. Before any of them could speak, a tall, middle-aged man in a shirt and tie approached their table. The shiny gold name-tag pinned to his shirt read: Hank Wilson: Manager.

"I uh, I hope you don't mind but service might be a little slow today, we've only got one waitress on you see. Had to make some cuts… Anyway, I'm sorry for the delay, I'll send Dana over in a minute."

"No problem," Sam said, "we're not in a hurry." Hank Wilson: Manager just nodded, and with a quick, slightly harassed-looking smile he hurried back towards the kitchen.

"So," Sam said before another silence could fall, "you spoken to Cas lately?"

"Who's Cas?" asked Annabelle, taking a sip of her own beer and watching Dean with curiosity.

"Just an old friend," Dean said before answering Sam without looking at him. "Not in about a year."

"A year?" Sam echoed incredulously. "He's your best friend."

Dean just shrugged. "I've had other stuff going on." Annabelle looked slightly confused and opened her mouth to speak when there was a noise behind them that made them all turn. A middle-aged woman at the table beside their's was clutching her wrist in pain, the handful of change she had been holding littered across the floor, a few coins still rolling in all directions. Sam crouched down to pick up the coin than had rolled to a halt at his feet and placed it back on the woman's table.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She looked up at him, bewildered, and wordlessly showed him her palm, in to which a perfect circle had been burned, about the size of a nickel.

"I'm fine," she muttered at last. "Must be an allergy or something." Sam frowned as the woman tentatively picked up the last of her change, this time with no ill effects. She mumbled a bemused thank you at Sam then left with her husband.

"That was weird," Sam said, sitting back down. "Did you see how that coin burned her hand? It can't have been hot because the waitress just handed it to her…"

"Yeah, weird," Dean said, although he sounded completely disinterested. "Like she said, must have been an allergy or something."

"It doesn't seem like an allergy," Annabelle interjected. "Considering she picked up the same coin a few seconds later."

"One of life's little mysteries," Dean pressed, trying to bring the subject to a close, but Annabelle continued.

"Besides," she said, "an allergy would never have caused such an acute burn." Sam couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction as Annabelle Warren, surgical resident backed up his suspicions while Dean tried to squirm away from any topic that could be vaguely related to the supernatural.

"You've got to admit it's weird," Sam said.

"Not really," said Dean.

The waitress stopped beside their table to let the manager pass through the narrow gap between the chairs but as he walked past her, she grabbed him suddenly by the arm. "Hank," she said matter-of-factly, "I've been stealing money from you for the past six years. I must have taken about $30,000. That's why you're going bankrupt." She said it all completely calmly, her expression barely changing. The yelling that ensued was deafening, and Sam, Dean and Annabelle all exchanged the same look and then sidled out from their table and scuttled out in the cool and mercifully quiet autumn air.

"Okay, you can't tell me _that_ wasn't weird," Sam said.

"Would you just drop it, Sam?" Dean said sharply. "Quit seeking out trouble, God knows it finds you anyway."

"How about we just get a takeaway?" Annabelle interjected, abruptly diffusing the tension. "And there are plenty of beers in the fridge at home."

"Sure," Dean said, taking a deep breath and letting it out as a heavy sigh. "You remember where the house is, Sam?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you there," he said. Dean looked around for Sam's car and his gaze landed on the blue Ford.

"Oh we're going to need to have a talk about that, Sammy." Sam just smiled as he watched Dean and Annabelle get in to the Impala. He stood on the sidewalk until the car was out of sight, then hurried back in to the restaurant to seek out trouble.

* * *

 **A/N Hey, hope you enjoyed the first instalment of this story. It was originally meant to be part of my ongoing one-shot series 'The Truth Will Out' but evidently ended up a little too long. So if you feel like some bitesized chunks of fluffy Destiel-ness go and check it out. Otherwise, stay tuned.**


	2. Cursed

The waitress was already packing her things when Sam re-entered, and Hank was still on his furious tirade.

"I'll have you arrested for this!" he screamed as she pushed past Sam and out the door, her expression blank and uncaring. Sam let her pass, then turned and followed her, walking a short way behind her as she wandered down the street that led to the centre of town. He rounded a corner a few seconds after her and saw her cross the street. He was about to follow when he heard a newly familiar voice float out the open doorway of a shop to his left.

The woman from the restaurant was standing with her husband in a small pharmacy, her burned hand held out gingerly in front of her. Her husband picked up a small paper bag from the counter, which she replaced with three dollar bills and a handful of change. Sam looked back across the street to see Dana the waitress vanishing around another corner and he deliberated for a moment, unsure who was the better lead. His question was answered, however, when the couple walked from the store and the woman turned to her husband.

"I'm sleeping with your brother," she said simply.

For the second time in ten minutes, Sam found himself in the middle of a very loud, very angry situation. He skirted around the couple and strode into the pharmacy, where the girl behind the counter was watching the unfolding drama with interest. As Sam walked in, she dragged her eyes away from the fight and reached out to pick up the coins from the surface in front of her.

"Wait!" Sam called, quickly reaching for his FBI badge. "Don't touch that money."

"Um…why not?" she asked, her hand hovering over the fifty cents in change. Sam felt around the pockets of his jacket for a bag and carefully nudged the coins into it with a pen.

"These coins are part of an ongoing investigation," he said. The girl looked dubious.

"What, did they murder someone?"

"Look-" he started, searching her uniform for a name badge. "Derek," he read, raising a derisive eyebrow. She glanced down to the name pinned to her front with mild interest, as though she hadn't realised it was there.

"Mindy," she corrected.

"Look, Mindy," he said, "The coins are evidence in a classified case. Here," he dropped two of his own quarters on to the counter. "Did you know that woman?"

"Sure, it's Mrs. Barber, from Redwood Street. She-" Mindy suddenly cut herself off, her expression growing smug.

"What was she buying?" This time Mindy didn't reply; she simply held out her hand.

"You're going to need to give me more than a couple of quarters if you want my help."

"I could have you arrested for obstructing a federal investigation," Sam threatened, not in the mood to deal with this.

"But you won't," she said, staring him down with a cold determination that didn't belong on the face of a sixteen or seventeen year old girl. "Cough up, grandpa."

Sam scowled and fished around in his pockets, disgruntled to find that the smallest bill he had was a twenty.

Mindy smirked as she swiped the money from his hand. "She was buying gauze and antiseptic cream for a weird burn on her hand."

"Have you seen any other weird burns on people in town?"

"A couple days ago, a guy named Kyle Langham came in with a burn on his leg like that. Something burned right through his pant pocket," Mindy said, picking up a nail file from the display in front of the cash register and beginning to shape her thumbnail.

"Just, uh…just out of curiosity, has Kyle Langham revealed anything lately? A big secret or…" She just raised her eyebrows and extended her hand again.

"You've got to be kidding," Sam muttered, unfolding another twenty. She slipped it into her pocket and continued.

"Kyle walked in to the police station two days ago and admitted that he killed some girl last year. It was a hit-and-run, people were talking about it for weeks but they never caught the guy responsible. Well, I guess they have now."

"And what about Mrs. Barber and her husband? Were they happy?"

"I dunno. I don't usually ask about their current marital status," she glanced at Sam to see if she was managing to piss him off, but Sam kept his expression neutral. She rolled her eyes and continued, "Mrs. Barber has been pretty quiet lately, but I guess she's kinda messed up if she goes cheating with her brother-in-law. Don't really blame her though, Mr. Barber's brother, Jack, is like, really hot."

"Fascinating," Sam muttered. He thanked her, only half sincerely, as he dropped the bag of coins into his pocket and left, mulling everything over in his mind. The Illinois air was growing cool as night fell, so he walked briskly back to his car and headed for Dean's house. If there was one good thing about Dean's new anti-hunting attitude, it was that Sam wasn't going to have to answer any probing questions about where he had been.

* * *

Sam opened the garden gate and approached the front door of Dean and Annabelle's picture-perfect little house, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of raised voices coming from inside.

"I'm not stupid, Dean," he heard Annabelle say. "I know something's going on. I saw the way you two stopped talking when I sat back down, not to mention the fact that you apparently haven't spoken to your best friend in a year, let alone even mentioned his name to me. What the hell are you running from?"

"Who says I'm running from anything?"

"Oh, come on. You turned up out of the blue with nothing but a black eye and a couple of shirts and started a whole new life out in the middle of nowhere, away from your home, your brother and your friends. No one does that for the hell of it."

"What's so wrong with wanting a new life?" Dean asked.

"It means there was something wrong with your old one, and you won't tell me what!"

"Well maybe it's none of your damn business!" Dean snapped. There was silence, then a sigh. "I'm just trying to protect you, Anna. There are parts of my life I'm trying really hard to leave behind. It's for the best. For everyone; trust me."

Sam crept back to his car as quietly as he could, then made quite a show of slamming the car door, rattling the bolt on the gate and ringing the doorbell, hoping they wouldn't realise how long he'd been listening.

When Annabelle answered the door there was a bright smile on her face, the only thing betraying their fight a slight flush in her cheeks.

"Hey, Sam," she welcomed, "come on in."

The rest of the evening passed in amicable conversation, each of them doing a good job at pretending they weren't furious at someone else in the room. By the time the clock on the wall struck eleven, Annabelle was ready for bed, as she had an early shift at the hospital the next morning. She kissed Dean goodnight and left the brothers alone. They both fell silent, no longer having to continue the pleasant façade for Annabelle's sake.

"Listen, Dean-" Sam began.

"Don't start, Sam. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind about hunting."

"Oh, come on, you can't be happy like this."

"You mean living in a nice house with a girlfriend and a steady job? Yeah, you're right, I'm practically living in poverty." They fell silent again, both of them staring angrily at the television.

"Cas is fine, by the way. Not that you bothered to ask," Sam said.

"Good," Dean said, hollowly.

"Things are settling down in Heaven. He goes back there a lot. He doesn't spend as much time on Earth anymore."

"Fine."

"He's not the same without you."

"Damn it, Sammy, I don't give a shit." Dean slammed his beer bottle down on the table, but before either of them could say another word, they were stopped short by the sound of Annabelle walking across the hall upstairs.

"I've got some reports to write for work," Dean said quietly, his head turned slightly away from his brother. "You okay to entertain yourself for a bit?"

"Sure," Sam said and Dean rose, striding into the study and closing the door swiftly behind him without another glance. Sam glared at the door as though he could break it down with nothing but mind-power and frustration, but when that didn't work, he switched off the television and went to channel his exasperation in to something more productive.

He set up his laptop at the circular kitchen table, carefully laying the coins out in front of him, not daring to touch them with his bare skin, and hoping that one of the two nickels Mrs. Barber had spent in the pharmacy was the same one that had burnt her hand. Sam began researching, but all he had to go on were the burns and people suddenly blurting out life-altering secrets. His internet search provided very little and he wished he could have the bunker's extensive library at his disposal.

After nearly two hours, he found some information on a curse that compels the victim to reveal their deepest secrets to whoever is closest to them at the time. He didn't know if it was even relevant, but it was his only lead. Sam wrote down all the information from the website, not daring to print any of it off in case Dean caught him working a case in his house.

By 1am, Sam was convinced that Dean was waiting for him to go to bed so he could emerge from his study without having to talk to his brother, but more out of pettiness than anything else, Sam decided he wasn't going to let Dean off that easily. Everything was silent from within the study, so Sam stood, stretched, and went to the bathroom, leaving his work spread out across the table.

He emerged from the bathroom a minute later, sniffing the rose scented handwash that had left a strong floral odour on his hands and struggling to imagine his brother wandering around the house smelling of flowers instead of motor oil. He noticed the study door was ajar, and a split second later he heard a muffled cry of pain from the kitchen.

"Dean?" Sam rushed through to the kitchen to find Dean clutching his hand, which was now sporting a familiar red welt.

"Is this what I think it is?" Dean asked furiously, gesturing to the nickel on the floor.

"Well...yeah."

"What the hell do you think you're doing bringing it into my house?" he yelled. "Are you out of your freaking mind?" Glancing towards the ceiling, remembering Annabelle was upstairs and lowered his voice. "I told you, I am finished with that life. What gives you the right-"

"Look, Dean, just chill-"

"Chill? I tell you that I want nothing to do with hunting, and the first thing you do is bring a cursed object into my house? Get the hell out, and take your stupid coins with you!"

Dean tried to push the nickel in to Sam's hands, but Sam leapt back before he could.

"Dean, you don't want to do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"You saw what happened to the waitress in the restaurant, and the same thing happened to the woman who burned her hand. Once you're branded, you're cursed. As soon as you give that coin away you're going to say something you don't want to say."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"I don't know. Dana lost her job and Mrs. Barber destroyed her marriage. Some kid landed himself in prison. Who knows what you might say." Dean backed down at last, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, rolling the coin between his fingers and eyeing it pensively. Sam stood still for a long time, as though Dean might start yelling again if he so much as twitched. But at long last Dean spoke, and his voice was quite calm.

"Okay, worst case scenario is Annabelle finds out about hunting and monsters and all that crap. Then my life here is pretty much screwed."

"That's your worst case scenario?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, you keep so many secrets, there are a hundred other things you might reveal."

"Like what?"

"How should I know?" Sam asked. "You've always kept things bottled up; hell, you might not even know what your darkest secret is because you spend so much time stuffing your feelings down and denying they exist at all. All I know is, you've been acting really weird with me for a long time, even more so with Cas. Dean rolled his eyes but Sam continued. "There are things you're not telling me, but if you give away that coin it's all going to come spilling out."

"This must be a dream come true for you," Dean muttered. "You've always wanted me to bare my soul to you, so it looks like you're gonna get what you want."

"That's not true," Sam said, sitting down to look his brother in the eye. "Everyone has secrets, Dean, and you should get to decide if and when you tell them." Dean just nodded, rubbing his forehead. "For what it's worth, Dean, I'm sorry. I've been so caught up in the thrill of hunting that I'd forgotten how tough it could be. I should never have tried to force you back into it; or brought a case into your house."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, running his thumb in circles around the burn on his palm.

"But I'm going to work this case," Sam continued, "especially now that I've got you wrapped up in it. I'll find a motel in the morning and I'll fix this."

"Thanks," Dean said again, but this time he seemed to mean it, looking up at his brother and nodding. "Come and see me before you leave town, okay?"

"Of course," Sam agreed. Dean stood, slipped the coin into his pocket, and headed to his bedroom. Sam watched him go, feeling a pit of disappointment and guilt in his stomach, weighing his insides down. He scooped up his laptop and left the kitchen, following his brother up the stairs and finding the guest bedroom with ease, but rather than going to sleep, he opened up his laptop again and continued to work. His research was interrupted every so often by thoughts of Dean, and what exactly he was so keen to keep hidden from Annabelle. And why, after six years, he was suddenly so touchy about Cas.


	3. Secrets

Dean was woken at half past six the next morning by the unfamiliar sound of the guest bedroom door clicking open. He heard the hum of the shower and felt the bed still warm beside him where Annabelle had been lying just a few minutes before. He rolled over on to his back and stared at the beige ceiling that matched the walls, listening to the guest bedroom door close quietly, and Sam's footsteps as he made his way downstairs.

When Annabelle re-entered the bedroom, she stopped suddenly. She had a white towel wrapped around her, her dark hair sticking to the contours of her neck and shoulders, and an expression of resignation on her face. In the five minutes she had spent in the shower, Dean had dressed, packed a bag and was pulling a pistol out from the drawer by his bedside.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Hunting," Dean replied, placing the gun on top of his shirts and zipping his bag closed. "Thought me and Sam could use some bonding time, y'know?"

Annabelle made a halfhearted noise of agreement.

"I'm sorry, baby," Dean sighed. "I'll be back in a couple of days, tops." He lifted the bag and walked to the door, stopping beside Annabelle to kiss her, her skin still warm and wet from the shower. "Have a great day at work, okay?" He kissed her again and this time she managed a smile.

"Have fun," she said. When Dean came down the stairs and into the hallway, Sam was just opening the front door.

"Wait up, Sammy." Sam turned to look at Dean in surprise.

"You're coming?"

"Sure. Like you said, I'm already wrapped up in this anyway, and besides," he checked over his shoulder to make sure Annabelle wasn't nearby, "if I'm a ticking truth bomb, I sure as hell don't want to be around Anna when I go off, not after I've spent so long trying to protect her from all this stuff."

"Okay," Sam shrugged, pulling his keys from his back pocket.

"Oh no, buddy," Dean scoffed, snatching the keys from him and tossing them onto a chair on the other side of the room. "No way we're driving that thing." Dean pulled his own keys from his pocket. "If you're lucky I'll let you ride shotgun." Dean grinned and walked out to the car, and Sam was about to follow when he doubled back, remembering he'd left his notepad on the kitchen table the night before. Just as he made his way back towards the front door, he felt someone's hand on his arm. Annabelle was standing there, fully clothed, but with her long hair soaking dark patches into her green sweater.

"Sam, I know there's something's going on," she said. "But Dean isn't going to tell me, and I would never ask you to go behind your brother's back, but please, you have to tell me, is he in danger?"

"No, he's fine Anna," Sam assured, with a smile. "Believe me, I know he's a secretive person. It used to drive me insane; but after a while, I realised that if I really need to know something, he'll tell me in his own time and on his own terms. Be patient with him, he's a pain in the ass."

"Don't I know it," Annabelle said, but she seemed to relax a little. "Look after him for me."

"I'll try."

* * *

An hour later, Sam had filled Dean in on the case, and he had watched his brother's eyes grow brighter and brighter with every detail. Now Sam was sitting on a rickety metal chair in a dank motel room, watching Dean pacing the peeling floor, theorising out loud with a bounce in his step that Sam hadn't seen in a long time.

"Okay," Dean said, "we should look in to whoever cast the spell in the first place, maybe they'll have some idea of how to reverse it. Chances are it's some stupid teenager who got her hands on a book of spells and got way out of her depth."

Sam's laptop and cell phone beeped at the same time, alerting him to an email from Charlie. He scanned it quickly, his eyes jumping to the portion that Charlie had highlighted for him.

"I don't think it's going to be that simple," Sam said, turning his laptop to Dean. "I got Charlie to send me a few of the books from the bunker that we managed to digitise and I think she's found something. This is really serious magic, Dean. I don't think we can just reverse it."

Dean's eyes widened as he read the list of materials that were required to break the curse. "Water of the Deluge?" he read. "You mean water from when Noah was playing pirate adventures on the sea for forty days? Actual biblical floodwater?" Sam nodded. "You've got to be kidding," Dean breathed. "That's impossible."

"That's the point," Sam said, rubbing his eyes. "This curse is like a virus, it wants to live, and once someone gives it life, it's going to be pretty damn hard to kill."

"Well what do you suggest?" Dean asked, his eyes scanning over the computer screen again, as if looking for a loophole that Sam or Charlie had somehow missed.

"I think we should call Cas, for a start."

"No," Dean protested abruptly, standing up so quickly that he almost tipped his chair.

"Look, I know you haven't talked in awhile, but don't you think it's time you got over whatever it is that's going on with you?"

"I said no, Sammy. I don't want Cas here."

"Why not? He's your best friend!"

"He's my only friend! That's like saying you're my favourite brother, it doesn't mean anything." Sam opened his mouth to reply but Dean cut him off. "I said no, Sam, so back off."

"Give me a real reason and maybe I will," Sam shot back.

"Look," Dean said, taking a breath, "I just want to minimise the fallout if this curse gets me too. You said it yourself, Dana lost her job, that woman destroyed her marriage, some kid is spending the next four years of his life in prison…"

"But Dean, you haven't had an affair or killed an innocent person…" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Recently," Sam added reluctantly. "What I mean is, you don't have any secrets that can ruin your life, as far as I know. And there's nothing new you can tell me that would change the fact that I'll always have your back."

"That's what I'm saying," Dean said. "If I'm with you when the curse catches up with me then maybe I won't ruin my entire life, but if I'm with Anna, or - "

"Or Cas," Sam cut in, putting two and two together, watching his brother carefully. Dean fell silent. "What are you so afraid of telling Cas?"

"Nothing!" Dean said, not meeting his eye. "But you said it yesterday, I have no idea what I might say, I've probably got secrets I don't even know about, and I don't want Cas here to hear them."

"Fine," Sam sighed, accepting defeat. "But if you're not going to let me call for backup, then maybe there's something else we can do about this curse."

"Like what?"

"Well if it forces you to reveal your darkest secret, maybe you should just beat it to the punch."

"You mean just announce all my private thoughts to the world? No way."

"It might mean the curse will let you go and you'll get to say everything on your own terms."

"...Okay."

"Okay?" Sam echoed, surprised by how easily Dean agreed.

"Yeah. Okay," Dean submitted, pulling two sodas from the fridge and sitting down opposite his brother. He seemed lost in thought for a few minutes, before he looked up.

"When you were sixteen, I told Lisa Moretti that you had chlamydia." Sam choked on his cola.

"Oh my God, why?"

"I dunno. I thought it was funny," Dean shrugged, smirking at Sam over his soda can.

"That's why she said no when I asked her to prom! You're an ass, you know that?"

Dean laughed. "Well you never ended up going to prom anyways, we had that - "

"Ghoul problem in Utah, I remember." Sam smiled reluctantly. "What else have you got?" Dean thought for another moment but this time his light-hearted expression dropped slightly, and his gaze fell.

"Before I left, me and Cas had a huge fight," he said to the table. "He turned up unannounced and saw me packing and he was pissed that I hadn't told him I was leaving. We argued, he threw a couple punches and then I left and we haven't spoken since."

"Why didn't you tell him you were leaving?" Dean just shrugged. "Come on, Dean," Sam pressed, "the whole point of this is that you're honest with me."

"I knew he'd be upset," Dean said, "he'd try to stop me. Seeing his face would have made everything ten times harder."

"So why did you have to leave?" Sam said, not managing to keep the betrayal from his voice any longer. "I thought everything was fine, for the first time in years we were all getting along great…"

"You know what, this is pointless," Dean said sharply, his mood changing so rapidly it was almost as if he had never been laughing at all. He stood up, grabbed his keys and headed for the door. "I'm going to find the sonofabitch that cast this spell and I'm going to fix it, because I am not spilling my guts like some fourteen year old girl. Not in front of you, not in front of anyone."

"Dean, what are you so afraid of?" Sam asked, standing up and going after his brother, his frustration growing.

"Stay here, Sam," Dean barked. "Find something in those books."

"Dean-" but before Sam could say anything else, the door closed and Dean was gone.

Sam knew they weren't going to be able to stop the curse themselves, even if Dean tracked down whoever it was that started the chain reaction of truth, so he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and hit speed-dial two. It rang twice before a deep voice answered.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Cas," he greeted. "Listen. Dean needs you-"

And then there was silence. Sam took the phone away from his ear just in time to see the words _Call Ended_ flashing on his screen. He called back.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Whatever it is, Sam, he can deal with it himself," Cas said, flatly.

"No, he can't, that's why I'm calling."

"The answer's no. He made his decision when he left."

"C'mon, Cas, this is Dean we're talking about. What happened to your profound bond or whatever?"

"He put an end to that."

"Please, Cas."

"No. Goodbye, Sam." Cas hung up on him for a second time, and Sam threw his phone across the room. He aimed for the bed, and it landed on the duvet with a soft thump. Sure he was angry, but he wasn't going to break his cell phone for the sake of a tantrum. So once again, doing the only thing he could do, he sat back down and hit the books.

It was already growing dark when Dean came back through the motel door, kicking off his brown boots and throwing his jacket on to the bed.

"Pass me a beer, would you? Please," he added. And Sam knew that was as close to an apology as he was going to get. He went to the fridge, freshly stocked by them that morning, and pulled out two cold beers.

"Listen, Dean," Sam started, keeping his back to his brother, bracing himself for impact. "I called Cas."

"Damn it, Sam! What did you do that for?" Dean asked furiously. "I don't know how much clearer I could have been!"

Sam turned to Dean and laughed in disbelief. "Clear?! You've been nothing but evasive for months! Maybe I just got sick and tired of you slamming doors in my face and taking out your issues with Cas on me. It's time you faced up to whatever the hell is going on between you two!"

"It was none of your Goddamn business! How many times-" but Sam interrupted.

"He's not coming, Dean." Dean faltered and fell silent. "I called and I asked and he said no."

Dean's shoulders sank and his angry glare dropped to the tabletop as though it had wronged him somehow. "Well… good. That's good," he said at last, as though he were assuring himself.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, the fight drained out of him as he pushed the beer bottle towards his brother and opened his own.

"'Course I am," Dean mumbled, before clearing his throat and clapping his hands together. "Anyway, I got a lead."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You know the girl that was killed in the hit and run?"

"Chloe Huntley?"

"Yeah, well she's the niece of Mrs. Barber, the woman from the restaurant who's doing her brother-in-law."

"Okay…" Sam said, waiting for more, but Dean was just watching him expectantly.

"Well, don't you think that's weird?" Dean asked.

"It's a small town, Dean."

"But isn't is possible that Mrs. Barber is the one who started the curse off, trying to find out who was responsible for her niece's death? Maybe she already suspected Kyle Langham so she planted the coin for him to pick up, and then when he did he admitted to the whole thing."

"But how did she end up getting cursed by her own coin?"

"I don't know, Kyle must have spent it before he confessed." Sam's mind began to run a little faster, theories, names, and possible connections flitting through.

"Okay," Sam said slowly, "so what if Kyle spent the nickel in the restaurant? As soon as he spent it, he went to the police station to confess. Then Dana the waitress puts it in the cash register, and it doesn't come back out again until a couple of days later when she gives it to Mrs. Barber with the rest of her change. So as soon as Dana gives it away, she admits to stealing and the curse moves on to Mrs. Barber."

"Surely she must have realised her curse had just come back to bite her in the ass?" Dean asked. "Why didn't she run for the hills or reverse it herself?"

"If she wasn't actually there when Kyle Langham picked up the coin in the first place, she wouldn't have kno -". Sam stopped talking, his eyes widening slightly as he looked over Dean's shoulder; there was a man standing in the middle of their motel room, dressed in a dark suit and trenchcoat with a deep frown on his face.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas."


	4. Close Quarters

Cas stood in the middle of the room, the bottom of his trenchcoat rippling slightly from the flight. "What do you want?" he demanded, glaring at Sam as if he had dragged him here against his will.

"Uh…" Sam faltered, a little caught off guard by his bluntness. "We need your help. Dean's cursed-"

"Why can't you handle that by yourselves?"

"The curse is hard to reverse. We need some things that we can't find," he explained, holding out his laptop to Cas. The angel hung back for a moment, before finally walking forward to take the laptop from him. "I think I can find the majority of the ingredients myself," Sam continued, "but the others are impossible to get. For humans, at least."

"I can get them," Cas said after scanning the page briefly. "But it will take me several hours, at the least."

"That's fine. I just want to get this whole thing cleared up. And I'm sure Dean does too, right?" For the whole of the terse conversation, Cas had been standing with his back to Dean, not even acknowledging him, while Dean stood stony-faced and frozen near the fridge, oblivious to Sam's question.

"Are you two going to keep ignoring each other?" Sam asked. "I mean, it's fine if you are, I'd just like to know in advance. I might pick up a crossword book or something, just to keep me occupied during the awkward silences."

Cas turned reluctantly. "Hello, Dean," he mumbled, not looking him in the eye.

"Hey, Cas." As predicted, there was a long, rather painful silence before Dean spoke again. "Thanks for doing this."

"I'm not doing it for you," Cas clarified, sharply. "Sam asked for my help."

"Well I appreciate it anyway," Dean retorted evenly. Sam watched their cold conversation, both bemused and curious.

"What the hell happened with you two?" Sam asked. It was a mostly rhetorical question, but nevertheless they both looked away, neither willing to answer.

"I'll collect the ingredients," Cas said, and with a rustle of wings, he had vanished. Sam looked at Dean questioningly.

"Well?"

"I'll get the rest," he muttered, and almost as quickly, he had vanished too.

Dean had driven off before Sam could catch up to him. Without a car, stuck in a remote motel on the edge of town, Sam had nothing else to do except sit and think about Dean and Cas, while he picked holes in the bloated wallpaper to reveal the drywall beneath.

* * *

As soon as Dean returned with the various herbs and a couple of minerals for the spell, Sam started observing him, but it was only when Cas returned that things got really interesting. It was as if Dean had completely forgotten how to behave like a normal human. Whenever he caught Cas's eye he would look away hurriedly, which looked just as suspicious as if he'd allowed the gaze to linger. He kept starting sentences then trailing off like he had decided against it, and stood unnaturally far from both him and Cas, as though he couldn't remember what was an acceptable distance.

"Okay, so all that's left is the Water of the Deluge," Sam said, balancing his laptop on his hand and scrolling down the list of ingredients, checking it against the pile of materials on the table. "Are you sure you can get it, Cas?"

"Yes, I'll just need a little extra time; I need to go through the proper channels. The Noachian flood is a very important point in history. We aren't supposed to tamper with any Biblical event; I'll have to clear it with an archangel."

"Why aren't you allowed to go back there?" asked Sam.

"Any alteration to events like that could have a knock on effect, changing details of Christianity, even changing the course of history."

"But it's doable, right?" Cas seemed to tense at the sound of Dean's voice.

"Yes," he supplied, answering Dean's question but stubbornly addressing Sam.

"So, when are you going to get it?" Dean asked.

"Dean!" Sam warned, feeling like a parent scolding his surly teenager.

"What? I'm just asking."

Cas's expression hardened. "What exactly happens if you don't break the curse?" he asked.

"Most likely Dean will reveal one of his deepest secrets. Something huge and life-altering, if the other victims are anything to go by," Sam said. Cas seemed to contemplate this for a moment, frowning as he looked out of the grubby window with its thinning yellow curtains.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean snapped, apparently concerned that Cas might go back on his word and leave him cursed.

"That would be refreshing," Cas said. "For you to be honest about something for once." Dean sighed, and Sam's thin patience finally wore out.

"For the love of God, would you two just have it out already? I'm getting sick of all this passive aggression!" He exclaimed, dropping his laptop down with more force than he intended, and the unsteady metal table rattled on the linoleum.

Once again, Sam thought he was going to be subjected to a long and awkward silence, but then Cas spoke, quietly, and with his blue eyes fixed on the ground somewhere in the region of Dean's left shoe.

"I still don't understand why you left," he said softly. "It was the first time in months that none of us were in mortal danger; we were happy. For once, we had a little peace…And I know I don't always understand human nuances…I know I get things wrong, but I really thought…the way you looked at me…I…" He trailed off, and Dean reddened.

"I told you before," Dean said, exasperation growing in his voice, "I left because I wanted a normal life. Is that so much to ask? Just to be normal?" But the words seemed to ignite something within Cas, and he was suddenly ablaze with fury, his fists clenched by his sides as he took a step towards Dean.

"I told you that I _loved_ you and the next day you packed your things and left!" Cas yelled, his deep voice filling the small room and reverberating slightly in the silence that followed. Sam stared at Dean in disbelief, waiting for him to say something to deny it, or to extricate himself with a reasonable explanation, but none came. Instead, all the emotion seemed to drain from his eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Cas?"

"How could you run away?" he asked. "I thought at the very least we were friends." Dean rolled his eyes, and before Sam knew what was happening, Cas had thrown himself at Dean, punching him hard across the face. Dean's careless expression changed rapidly to shock as Cas's fist collided with his jaw. Sam stood immobile, so shocked by Cas's admission that he let him land a hit on his brother. Dean stumbled slightly, grabbing the kitchen counter to keep himself upright. Cas drew his fist back a second time, but even though he saw it coming, Dean didn't fight back; he didn't even try to move out of the way as the angel hit him again, sending him staggering, his face lowered against his shoulder. When he looked back at Cas, his green eyes were shining with pain, and Cas hit him a third time, then a fourth, and there was blood on his lips before Sam snapped out of his shocked stupor. He pulled Cas away from Dean, but not before Cas's fist had collided with Dean's face one last time.

"Cas, that's enough," Sam said, but he couldn't find it in himself to sound angry. Cas resisted him for a second before pulling his arms away from him forcefully. Dean lifted his head to look at the furious angel, and there were tears on his bruised and bloodied face.

They remained in silence for several moments, the cheap plastic clock on the wall counting each second loudly. No one so much as moved. Cas stood breathing heavily; Sam hovered nearby, poised to grab the angel if he made another lunge. Dean pressed his sleeve to his bleeding lip, his eyes never leaving Cas. Sam couldn't tell what his brother was feeling. Regret? Guilt? Anger? The tears of pain that had made it to his jaw mingled with the blood from his mouth, forming a watery red stream that ran down his neck, soaking into his shirt.

Before any of them could speak, there was a knock at the door, and all three men turned to look at it. After a moment of hesitation, Dean crossed the room, hastily wiping away the fresh blood on his lips and chin before opening the door.

"Anna."

"Hey, I saw your car on my way to see a patient, you left this –" she started, holding out his thick brown jacket, but stopped abruptly. "What happened to your face?"

"It was nothing," Dean said abruptly. Annabelle looked over his shoulder into the motel room and her eyes fell on Sam, and then Cas.

"Who's that?" she asked. Dean seemed to freeze for a second before he stepped back, opening the door further.

"Anna, this is Cas. Cas, Annabelle," he introduced resignedly. Annabelle entered the room, reaching out to shake his hand, and Cas returned the gesture.

"I've heard a lot about you," said Cas, his voice convincingly level.

"I wish I could say the same," Annabelle replied. They stood there, face to face, hand in hand, for just slightly longer than necessary, as though evaluating each other. At last Annabelle turned back to Dean, handing him the jacket and using her now free hands to examine his face that was already swollen and darkening around the eyes. "I'm not even going to ask," she said. Dean couldn't help a sharp intake of breath as her thumbs pressed gently under his eye. "Suck it up," she said. "Nothing's broken." She looked around at the group of men standing silently and awkwardly in the dank motel room and shook her head, making her brown hair shimmer in the sunlight filtering through the window.

"You boys enjoy…whatever the hell this is," she said, wearily. "I'll see you at home, Dean." Everything about her was distinctly cooler today, as though she were distancing herself from the possibility of getting hurt. Sam couldn't help but wonder how much more of this uncertainty and secrecy she would be willing to put up with.

"Anna, wait," Dean sighed, pulling her back by the hand before she could reach the door. Sam saw it; it was only fleeting, the tiniest glance, but it was there. As Dean pulled Annabelle into a kiss, he threw a sideways look at Cas, as though making sure he was watching. Cas's expression barely changed as he watched Dean kissing her, but Sam saw his jaw quiver minutely and his eyes harden. Dean tucked Annabelle's hair behind her ears and said,

"Thanks for the jacket. I really appreciate it." Clearly against her will and better judgment, Annabelle smiled.

"You're welcome," she said with a weary sigh. "I'll see you in a day or two. Please be careful." And then she added, "I love you."

"You too," he replied, and Sam felt the air beside him shift. Without a backwards glance, Dean put his arm around Annabelle and walked her out to her car, pressing his lips against her temple.

A moment later he re-entered to see that Cas had vanished. Only Sam remained, watching his brother coldly.

"You're a lot of things, Dean," he said, slowly. "But I never thought you were cruel."


	5. Sacrifice

Sam stared at his brother, whose eyes were fixed on the spot where Cas had been standing just a few seconds before.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked viciously.

"Hey, I told you not to call him," Dean said, pulling his eyes away from the empty space and fixing his brother with a cold stare that made him almost unrecognisable.

"Don't try to make this my fault," Sam snapped. "What you just did to him is not on me."

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault if the guy reads too much into things."

"You deliberately hurt him and you know it," Sam bit out, but Dean remained stubbornly silent. "Well, what's your Plan B?" he pressed. "Because you just screwed up Plan A. We have no way of getting back to 5600 BC for that Flood water."

"You know what my plan is?" Dean asked, tossing the remaining ingredients into his bag and grabbing his jacket from atop the ugly duvet. "I'm going to take this stupid coin, shove it somewhere at the back of my closet and forget all about it. If I can find a way to break the curse, fine. If not, the coin ain't gonna do any harm if it's hidden."

"That's your solution for everything, isn't it?" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Out of sight, out of mind."

"Go home, Sam," Dean said wearily, picking up the coin and dropping it into his back pocket. "God knows I am."

"This is not your home, Dean," Sam argued. "You don't belong here."

"You know what?" Dean barked, turning on his brother and pointing an accusing finger at him. "You're jealous."

"Jealous?" Sam echoed incredulously, but before he could throw back a sharp retort, he forced himself to sit down and take a breath. "Okay, maybe there was a time when I wanted this kind of life, I wanted a normal family, and friends, a job...but not anymore. I know terrible things happen to us all the time, but I still wouldn't give up what we have. We were born to hunt."

"No, we were _forced_ to," Dean corrected. "And there is nothing wrong with wanting a bit of normality."

"A bit? Seriously, Dean, every single thing in your house is beige. It's actually kind of frightening." Dean glared at him, annihilating his small attempt at humour. "This isn't you," Sam finished, exasperatedly.

"You're such a hypocrite," Dean said. "Comin' in here and judging me for trying to have a normal life, when you left me to rot in Purgatory for a _year_ because you were too busy playing house with a vet and goddamn collie."

Sam fell silent, holding himself back from saying something he might regret.

"You're right," he said at last. "It's time for me to go." He collected his things in stony silence, feeling his brother's eyes on his back. He felt a stab of sadness, almost like loss as he packed his bags, and he realised that, even though he was standing three feet from Dean, he missed his brother.

Sam stuffed his laptop into his bag, walked to the door and nearly left without another word, but he dragged himself back around. "You know the door's always open, whenever you decide to come home. I don't know about Cas, but I'll be there. Anytime."

"Bye, Sam."

Dean watched the door close and his cold exterior crumbled almost immediately. He dropped his bag and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, pressing his face into his hands and trying to block out the image of Cas's face, confused and brokenhearted.

"Damn it," he muttered, pressing his shaking fingers harder against his bruised skin, in the hope that the dull pain might distract him from the sickening, empty pit in his stomach. He didn't realise he hadn't been breathing until he was forced to take a sharp, gasping breath. "God damn it."

After sitting there a while longer, he ran his hands through his hair and stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the motel. It was raining slightly; the sky was a light grey, and a mist of water covered his black car. He automatically looked up and down the row of motel rooms, futilely searching for any sign of Sam or Cas, but as he retreated into the dry interior of his car, he knew that he had single handedly driven them both away.

* * *

He drove the few miles back into town, but when he reached Maple Street, he drove straight by, watching his house fall away in the rear view mirror. He drove on down the street lined with trees, each side of the road a mirror image of the other. White houses with white fences, their silver cars parked parallel with the straight edges of the neatly manicured green grass out front. He kept going and the houses became gradually larger until he pulled up outside an attractive two-story house, perhaps twice the size of the one he shared with Annabelle. The front yard was full of flowers, still bright and colourful despite the cooling weather. Dean knocked three times on the front door. A moment later, a woman answered.

"Mrs. Barber?" he asked.

"Yes?" she replied, her eyes scanning his bruised face and blackening eyes. She looked quite different framed in the doorway of her impressive home, in a knee-length cream dress, her brown hair pulled back. She was almost unrecognisable as the slightly haggard looking woman he had seen in the restaurant the day before. Dean was about to reach for his FBI badge in his inside jacket pocket, but he decided against it.

"I need your help," he said.

Five minutes later, he was sitting in her living room on a long, red couch, being presented with a large mug of coffee and a slice of cake. He left the cake uneaten but sipped the hot drink, watching Mrs. Barber as she came and sat down, joined a second later by a man around the same age.

"Mr. Barber?" Dean inquired. He had been so busy trying to avoid getting involved in the situation at the restaurant that he hadn't even looked at the man who had been sitting with Mrs. Barber at the table beside them.

"Yes," he said with a friendly smile. "And you are?"

"Dean," he reached out a hand, "Winchester."

"Ah, you're Annabelle Warren's fella," Mr. Barber shook his hand, nodding in recognition. "Sweet girl. Took my appendix out."

"Yeah, she's a keeper," Dean agreed, a little impatiently. He wanted to get some answers about the curse, but he wasn't sure if he should start talking about it in front of Mr. Barber; having to give him "the talk" about the supernatural was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Instead, he pulled the coin from his pocket and laid it on the table as casually as he could, waiting to gauge their reaction. Mr. Barber gave a small laugh, and Mrs. Barber sighed.

"So you know it was me," she smiled apologetically.

"Yes."

"It's funny," smirked Mr. Barber, looking at the innocuous nickel with an expression of mild amusement, "how something so small can have such big consequences."

"Hilarious," said Dean, dryly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mrs. Barber gasped, catching sight of the circular burn that was still red and inflamed on Dean's palm. "It got you, too, did it?" Dean just murmured his assent. "I really had no idea that the curse could affect more than one person," she continued. "But I had to find out who killed my niece. She was so young…such a beautiful girl…It's been almost a year since she was killed, you know. And not knowing what had happened to her was driving me insane, not to mention ruining my marriage." At this point, Mr. Barber put his arm around her. "You understand, don't you?" she asked.

"Sure," Dean said automatically, not fully listening to her, just waiting for her to pause so he could find out what he wanted to know. "Do you know how to stop it?" he asked.

"The curse? No," she shook her head. "If I had known how to stop it, I'd have done it myself, before I could tell my husband I was cheating on him. The way I blurted it out in the middle of the street…it was cruel. I may not have loved him anymore, but I still respect him a great deal." Dean watched Mr. Barber with confusion, wondering why he was still sitting there so blithely with his arm around a woman who was telling a near stranger that she didn't love him.

"Oh," Dean realised finally, looking at Mr. Barber. "You're not…you're not the husband?"

"No," Mrs. Barber shook her head again, "this is my husband's brother, Jack. Oh, don't look at me like that; I never planned for any of this. I would have stayed with my husband until the day I died because it was the right thing to do, but you know what I've realised? You need to stop doing the right thing for everyone else, and start doing the right thing for you." She smiled warmly at Mr. Barber, and he took her hand, gazing into her eyes like a lovestruck teenager.

"It doesn't seem like I've been doing right by anyone lately," Dean muttered, putting his mug down next to the untouched cake to avoid looking at the infatuated couple. "You really have no idea how to stop the curse?"

"I found the ingredients for the spell on some strange website," she recalled, her attention moving back to Dean. "I didn't really believe in any of that nonsense, I never imagined it would actually work, so I never thought to look for a way to reverse it, I'm afraid."

"Thanks anyway," Dean said, standing up and showing himself to the door, dodging between boxes of clothes that he could only imagine belonged to the first Mr. Barber, whose whole life had just been turned upside down by the most important person in it. Dean looked back at Mrs. Barber and her brother-in-law. Sure, the truth had made _them_ happy, Dean thought, all cozy in each other's arms, but things hadn't worked out so well for her husband.

* * *

Dean sat in the comfortable safety of his car, mulling everything over and watching the raindrops gather and slip down the windshield for a few minutes before the rain began to ease. He could carry on with his life here, safe and ordinary with Annabelle, as long as he kept the coin out of sight. Maybe they would get married one day, maybe even have kids. He could forget all about his old life and just be normal. Maybe he'd be happy. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and was slightly surprised to see a message from Sam flashing on the screen. He opened it to see a screenshot of one of the old books from the bunker. It read:

 _If by noon on the fifth day the curse has not manifested, it will move to another vessel, relieving the current owner of both the object and his darkest secrets._ Underneath the picture there was a curt message from Sam. _Good luck with that._

"So much for Plan B," Dean muttered, tossing the cellphone on to the passenger seat. Of course there was a time limit on the curse, just being able to hide it away was far too simple a solution. "What I wouldn't give for something just to be simple for once."

It had only been two days since he had met Sam in the restaurant, although it felt much longer. That meant he had three more days before the curse would make him blurt out his secrets. What if he told Anna all about his secret past as a hunter? Would she leave him? But what if he told her something even worse? Maybe he should leave, just head out into the middle of the woods and wait for the three days to be up. Maybe if there was no one around, there would be no one for him to admit anything to. But even as he thought it, he knew it was no good. The curse would just do it's weird mind-control thing and force him to walk straight back into civilisation, ruining his own life, like a man walking to the gallows.

With no idea what to do next, he drove back to Maple Street, pulling into the driveway of his red-roofed house just as the sun emerged from behind the clouds. He looked at their little house, and wondered how many more times he would be able to pull into this driveway before the curse screwed everything up. He grabbed his bag and climbed out of his car into the mild air. He was halfway up the path, still damp with rain, when the front door opened and Cas stepped out into the afternoon sun, Annabelle closing the door behind him. The angel's expression barely changed as he caught sight of Dean standing in the yard.

"Cas?" His voice came out in a cracked whisper.

"Dean," he nodded curtly.

"What are you doing here?" Dean was nervous, but he was also pleased to see Cas's face again; he was so sure that he had driven him away forever.

"I brought this," he said, holding out a jar of murky water. "I believe it's the last ingredient you need to break the curse." Dean reached out and took the jar and felt the warm glass where Cas had been holding it.

"Why did you do this?"

Cas's words were empty as he replied.

"I may not agree with everything you have said or done in the past year, Dean, and I can't help but see this curse as an opportunity for you to stop hiding from whatever it was that drove you out here in the first place, but you at least deserve the choice." He spoke flatly, as though reciting a practiced speech, but then his eyes dropped to the ground as he continued. "Deciding to say something that will change your life forever is…well, it's terrifying. Knowing that a few words can demolish everything you thought you had, destroy the solid ground you thought you were standing on…it's a risk and it's frightening. All I'm saying is, you should have the choice."

Dean stared at Cas, his mouth slightly agape. He wanted to apologise. He wanted Cas to look him in the eye again so he could tell what the angel was thinking, but at the same time he was terrified to see the pain that he had caused.

"Goodbye, Dean," Cas said, and there was a finality in his words that made Dean's stomach plummet. Cas walked around him towards the gate.

"Cas, wait," he blurted, but before Dean could turn around, there was a rustle of wings and Cas was gone. He gazed at the empty yard for a moment, before he remembered the weight in his hands. He looked down at the Water of the Deluge and placed it carefully into his bag, completing the set of ingredients he needed to break the curse. He was home and dry, but there was no feeling of relief, just guilt and an uncomfortable, twisting doubt.

Annabelle was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the living room, leafing through a medical journal. She looked up at him when he entered.

"Hey," she said, a little quietly.

"Hey." Dean sat on the dark wooden coffee table opposite her, their knees touching, and he tried to figure out how much Cas might have told her about his life. "So…Cas was here?"

"He was. He was looking for you."

"What, uh…what did you guys talk about?"

"Not a lot," she said. "You, mostly."

"Oh," he said, a twinge of panic in his chest.

"He cares a lot about you."

"I know," he said, watching her carefully, but there didn't seem to be any hidden meaning behind her words as she continued.

"And so does Sam. Honestly, I'm not really sure what you're doing, living all the way out here."

"You kidding? I'm here with you, we've got a life here," Dean gestured around the living room with one hand, taking her hand with the other.

"You have a life back in Kansas, too," she said gently. "And it seems to me like you've got a choice to make."

"I'm staying here," Dean said abruptly. He didn't have the curse to worry about any more; staying here was the simple choice. She smiled, but shook her head slightly.

"Please don't do that for my sake," she said. "Don't just stay to avoid hurting me."

"I'm not," he insisted, "I want to be here." Annabelle didn't look convinced.

"We've both kept a lot of secrets, Dean. I think it's time I put some of them out in the open." She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, and when she opened them again, her eyes were shining with tears. "When I was eight, my parents were killed..."

"Oh, God, Anna, I'm so sorry," he started, but she cut him off.

"They were killed by a Shifter, and I would have been dead too, if a hunter hadn't come along and saved me."

"A hunter?" Dean echoed. She smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"I know all about hunters, Dean, and about the monsters that hide under the bed; I've been terrified of them ever since. I've got to admit though," she added, "the whole angels and demons thing was news to me."

"Anna, I-"

"What I'm saying is, it didn't take me very long to figure out that you were a hunter too."

"How?"

"I don't know, I could just tell," she shrugged, and if Dean hadn't been so blindsided by all of this, he might have detected the evasiveness in her answer. "The point is, when I realised you were a hunter, I wanted to keep you around so I wouldn't have to feel scared anymore."

"Oh," Dean said. The tears were falling steadily from her brown eyes now. She had never talked about her parents before, and Dean guessed that this was why. It obviously still hurt her to think about them.

"You don't love me, Dean," she stated, her voice catching slightly.

"Anna-"

"You don't love me," she said again, "but that's okay, because if I'm really honest, I don't love you either. I was just scared and I wanted someone to keep me safe." She wiped her cheeks and forced a small laugh. "Now, you need to go. Go catch up with Cas."

Dean was lost. All that time trying to protect Annabelle from the horrible knowledge of the evil that lurked in the dark, and she had known all along. She had experienced it in the worst possible way, and all the while she had known exactly what he was. Dean stood and lifted Anna from her chair by the hands, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. He kissed her hair and felt her hands hold on to his shirt, felt her shaky breath against his chest. At last, he let her go, kissing her once more on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Don't be," she said with a reassuring smile. "It just wasn't meant to be."

Dean stood in the middle of the familiar room, and was suddenly frozen, weighed down by the magnitude of everything that had happened in the last few days. He felt like he was being swept downriver by a series of events that he had no control over, and in the space of two days, everything he had known had changed. There was so much he wanted to say, but standing there in front of Annabelle, who was encouraging him to go back to the very thing he had been running from, he just couldn't find the words.

"Go on," she said, giving him a little shove. "Get out of here, you've got a life to get back to."

Dean took one last look at Annabelle, and she gave him one last smile as he picked up his bag and his keys, turned to the door, and left.

* * *

Annabelle walked out into the hallway, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. She stared at the door, and she listened as the familiar sound of the Impala's engine faded into the suburban silence. She remained there, overwhelmed and unmoving for several minutes, before she reached out for the bannister behind her, and lowered herself on to the stairs with trembling hands. He was gone. Just like that, the person she thought she was going to spend her future with was suddenly just a memory, consigned to the past forever. She held back the tightening ache in her chest by reminding herself that Dean could be happy now, and really, that was all that mattered. She only wished she hadn't let herself love him.


	6. Words

The click of the laptop keyboard was the only sound in the cavernous bunker as Sam sat in the brightly lit library, searching for a new case. Even after a year alone, the silence still weighed heavily on him. He found himself thinking about Cas, as he often did when he felt lonely. He took his cell phone from the back pocket of his worn jeans and texted him.

 _\- you okay?_

He waited for a reply, tracing a scratch in the otherwise pristine mahogany table with his thumb. A few seconds later his phone vibrated, and he read Cas's one-word reply.

\- _Yes._

 _-really?_ Sam typed back.

\- _No, not really._

 _-I'm sorry_

 _-Don't be. It isn't your fault._

 _-you coming over later?_ Sam asked.

- _Yes. Is it my turn to choose the movie?_

 _-yeah_

 _-Okay._

Sam sat his cell phone down on the polished table, straightening himself up in an effort to coax himself back to work, but sympathy for Cas and concern for Dean prevented him from concentrating. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair to look up at the ceiling, feeling the satisfying click of a few of his vertebrae as he stretched his spine. But he was suddenly upright once more when he heard a heavy pounding on the bunker door; the low thumps reverberated unhindered through the large rooms. Sam picked up the gun lying on the table beside him and approached the spiral staircase that led to the door. He crept up the stairs as quietly as the metal steps and his heavy boots would allow, before readjusting his grip on the gun, holding it up with one hand and unlocking the latch with the other. The door creaked open loudly and he relaxed his hold on the weapon when he saw his brother standing there in the rain.

"Why are you knocking?" Sam asked.

"Can I come in?" Dean's voice was flat and his eyes expressionless.

"Don't be an idiot, you live here," Sam said with a half-concerned smile. "Come in," he added when Dean didn't move. They walked together towards the library in stony silence, but the relief Sam felt to have Dean back was tangible. Once they sat down at the table, Sam broke the awkward quiet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked tentatively, hoping his brother was moving back home but not daring to believe it.

"She didn't love me," Dean said, as soon as Sam had spoken, as though the words had been hanging on his lips for hours; paused there, waiting until there was someone he could talk to.

"Who, Annabelle?" Sam frowned. "Of course she did, Dean."

"She told me," Dean looked at his hands, his voice quiet and his expression unreadable. "She never loved me and she said I don't love her either."

"Well, do you?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

"I do," he said. "I really do. It just…"

"Isn't enough?" Sam finished.

"I don't know," Dean said, sighing deeply and looking up at the ceiling as if hoping he would find some guidance written there. A low buzz came from the table and Sam's phone lit up, alerting him to an unimportant email and illuminating the background image on his screen. It was a picture of him and Cas, grinning at the camera, standing on either side of a man dressed as Santa Claus; it was the first day since Dean had left that Sam had seen Cas in a good mood. They had gone to a Christmas market together in Pennsylvania, wandering around the stalls, neither of them buying anything but enjoying the atmosphere all the same, and it was the first time in months that Sam had seen Cas smile. Dean looked down at the picture almost sadly.

"You and Cas got pretty close, huh?"

"Well, what did you expect?" Sam asked. "When you left, we suddenly had a lot more in common; we were both trying to get through a life without you in it. I was okay, because I could come and visit, but for Cas…you were gone forever."

"I really messed up, didn't I?" Dean groaned, resting his forehead in his hands.

"It wasn't your finest moment," Sam replied with a sympathetic smile.

"What do I do now?"

"What do you want to do?" Sam asked.

"I want to fix this," Dean said earnestly. "Whatever it takes." Before Sam could ask him what he meant, Dean had pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial. He sat very still for a few seconds, but Sam could see the fear behind his eyes.

"Hey, Cas," he said at last. "Listen, you were right, I need to face up to everything. You deserve the truth, so I haven't broken the curse. Come to the bunker tomorrow at midday and I'll tell you everything. Whether I like it or not," he added, with a small attempt at a laugh, but then his smile fell and he went back to looking anxious. "Just call me when you get this. Please." He lowered the phone on to the table and looked up at his little brother, thoroughly defeated.

"You didn't break the curse," Sam mused. "But I thought Cas brought you the Flood water?"

"He did," Dean said simply, indicating the brown leather bag by his chair that contained the spell ingredients. Sam waited for Dean to elaborate, but no more words came.

"Well, now what?" Dean shrugged.

"Pizza?" Sam suggested, but Dean shook his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Beer?" Sam queried. Dean shook his head again, and Sam raised his eyebrows, suddenly even more concerned than he had been. "I guess we just wait, then." Sam sat back in his chair, and Dean hunched over the table, chewing on his thumbnail and staring at his cell phone screen. The seconds dragged by and they turned to minutes, then hours, both of them watching the clock, seeing the time edge closer and closer to the moment that Dean would finally have to stop hiding.

* * *

Dean woke just before six a.m. after a fitful sleep, just as tired as he had been the night before. He felt a pit in his stomach and it took him a few seconds to realise why; a few blissfully ignorant seconds, before he remembered that he had just six hours until he voluntarily turned his life upside down. He sat up, inadvertently knocking over a bottle of water by his bed that landed with a crackle and a thump on the floor. He left it lying there, staring emptily at the blank wall, trying to imagine what the day would hold. A moment later, his bedroom door clicked open quietly and Sam peered in.

"I thought I heard you," he said, seeing that Dean was awake and coming to sit next to him on the bed. They sat in familiar silence, and Dean felt Sam glance at him a couple of times before he spoke again.

"You really don't know what you're going to say today?" Sam asked gently. "You don't know what your biggest secret is?" Dean let out a long breath and shook his head.

"All I know is that for as long as I can remember I've had a truck load of feelings that I can't explain; like I'm carrying around a bucket of bricks inside me. I'm kind of hoping the curse will get rid of that...get everything off my chest, y'know?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I'm proud of you, you know," he said. "This can't be easy."

"What have I told you about the chick flick moments?" Dean said dismissively, straightening up and doing his best to act aloof, though he couldn't help the little surge of pleasure and relief he felt to hear that he hadn't disappointed his brother quite as much as he had thought. "You think Cas will come?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Sam said.

"Just tell me you think he'll come," Dean pleaded.

"Okay," the corner of Sam's mouth pulled up in a compassionate smile. "He'll be here."

"I don't believe you," Dean said; Sam laughed and patted his brother on the back.

"Come and get breakfast," he said, and Dean was about to decline when Sam continued. "No excuses, you'll feel better." Dean did as he was told, following his brother from the room, the nervous pit in his stomach swallowing any traces of an appetite.

He managed a few pieces of bacon and cup of coffee before his stomach began to churn. They had both showered and shaved, got dressed, and were now sitting in the library again; Sam working half-heartedly on a spate of vampire attacks in North Dakota, Dean once again watching his cell phone closely for any contact from Cas.

As it neared midday, Dean found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the ornate, wood rimmed clock on the wall. He watched as the second hand clicked around in circles, the minute hand moving closer and closer to twelve. He felt very hot, then cold, and his palms began to sweat. When the anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, he stood abruptly and laid his hands on the table, trying to steady himself while Sam watched him with concern.

"Dean?"

"I can't do this, Sammy," he said. "I thought I could, but I can't."

"C'mon, Dean, you can't keep hiding your feelings."

"I'm not," he insisted, straightening up and looking his brother in the eye. "I just…I can't do it. Not like this." He hurried to his room, finding his bag and tipping the ingredients for the spell out on to his bed. He laid out the stones, the herbs, a cat skull, and that godforsaken nickel, piling everything up in a circle on his desk. He rummaged in a drawer for five small candles and placed them in a circle surrounding the assortment of supplies. He was about to pour the Flood water on top when Sam entered the room, grabbing his arm.

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned, his voice unnaturally steely.

"What are you doing?" he asked, angered and surprised by Sam's sudden intensity.

"Cas deserves an explanation, you don't get to back out now." Dean pulled his arm out of his brother's tight grip and moved to complete the spell, but Sam's hand darted out to snatch away the coin.

"Sammy, no!" Dean grabbed it a split second before Sam could touch it, their hands colliding forcefully. Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "What the hell are you trying to do to me? This is my goddamn decision, that's what you said!"

"I assumed you would do the right thing anyway!" Sam shot back. "Since when were you a coward?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean snapped, "You spend a few months with Cas and you think you know everything about him? You don't know him, Sam. I'm doing what's best for everybody."

"No, you're doing what's easy." Dean sat the coin back on the pile, poised to grab it back if Sam made another lunge, but his brother remained still this time, even as Dean poured the water on top of the coin, and it began to fizz and smoke, the metal dissolving before their eyes. Sam sighed in exasperation and walked from the room, leaving Dean irritated and uncertain. His attention was diverted, however, when he felt a cold sensation on his hand like someone was holding an ice cube to his palm, and when he looked down he saw that his circular burn had disappeared.

He felt his shoulders relax a little, and he glanced down to his watch to see the time flick from 11.59 to 12.00. There was a soft noise behind him, and Dean turned to see Cas standing in the doorway, looking at him with frustration and disappointment.

"Cas, let me explain," he started, but Cas turned and walked away. "Damn it," Dean muttered, running after him and catching up with him in the bright library, pulling him around by the arm.

"I knew it," Cas said, resignedly, before Dean could speak. "I knew you'd back out, I should never-"

"Let me explain," he said again, and Cas fell silent, watching him expectantly. "Okay, well give me a minute," Dean said, not actually expecting that Cas would listen to him. Cas shook his head and pulled his arm from Dean's grasp.

"Cas, please, I still want to talk to you," Dean insisted. "I just wanted to do it on my own terms. I was speaking to this woman, Mrs. Barber, and she said that her only regret was letting the curse do the talking for her."

"Fine," Cas conceded, turning back. "Talk."

Dean faltered again, and Cas grew angry.

"What do you want from me, Dean?" he asked acidly. "Do you want me to tell you that I forgive you for walking out on me after I told you that I loved you? Or do you want me to tell you that I didn't mean it? Or do you want me to say that I've spent the last twelve months pining for you, waiting for you to walk back through the door? Because none of that is true. I told you that I loved you and you ran, but I got over it, and when I finally thought I could face you, you hurt me again. So tell me what you want Dean, because I don't think I have anything else to give you."

"Nothing," Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady as he met Cas's eyes. "I don't want anything from you. I've been…awful. I hate what I did to you. You don't owe me a damn thing, but I owe you the truth at least." Cas stared at him icily, and, scared that the angel would walk out, Dean said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Do you ever think about the inside of your brain?"

Cas was thrown off by the question. "What are you talking about?"

"The inside of your brain. When I imagine the inside of my head, it's like…a big white room with dozens of doors leading from it."

"Okay…"

"And whenever something bad happens to me, I put the memory behind one of the doors so I don't have to think about it. If I ever start to remember any of the bad experiences, I imagine myself shoving them back behind the door and locking them away. It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, that's what I did with you."

"So I'm a bad memory?"

"No," Dean shook his head quickly. "That's not what I'm saying. I mean, when you told me you loved me, I was terrified; all I could feel was fear, and I didn't even stop to think where that fear was coming from. I just panicked and locked it away so I didn't have to face it. I thought I was scared because I didn't feel the same way and I thought I was going to hurt you, but-" he paused and steadied himself, feeling a rush of that familiar panic that he had worked so hard to restrain. "-in reality, I was scared, because I knew deep down that we had become so much more than friends, and admitting that would mean changing my whole life; risking our friendship, putting my heart on the line, giving you the power to tear me apart. I knew for certain that if I let myself love you, and then I lost you, I could never, ever come back from that. So I ran before I could hurt either of us anymore than I already had." As soon as he finished, he felt like a weight had been lifted from him, but it was quickly drowned by fear as he waited for Cas's reaction. Seconds passed and Cas looked at him a little curiously.

"That's it? You were scared?" he asked.

It wasn't the reply Dean had been hoping for at all.

"I'm not making excuses," Dean said hastily. "I've been an almighty douche, and nothing justifies that; no matter how freaked out I was, I should have put your feelings first." Cas remained silent again and Dean felt the uncontrollable urge to keep filling the silence. "I don't expect you to excuse what I did, I know I ran out of chances a long time ago, but if there's anyway you can forgive me…"

"I have a pit in my stomach whenever I look at you,"Cas finally said. "I feel sick because looking at you reminds me of how stupid and humiliated I felt when I bared my soul to you and you ran away." Dean struggled to keep his face neutral as every one of Cas's words hit him like a bullet. Cas paused for a second, and then seemed to calm himself a little. "I don't want it to be this way. I want things to be okay between us again, but right now I can't do that, so I'm going to go."

"Okay," Dean croaked.

"I appreciate your honesty," he said, meeting Dean's gaze for a split second. "But I really could have used it twelve months ago."

"I know."

"Goodbye, Dean." Dean watched Cas ascend the spiral stairs and leave the bunker, only then noticing that there were hot tears on his cheeks. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Sam emerging from the corridor, calling after Cas and catching up with him outside the door. Dean couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear the low mumble of their voices, and as he stood in the middle of their enormous bunker, he realised that he had rarely felt so alone.

* * *

 _At least he's in the same room as me,_ Dean consoled himself as he and Sam sat at separate desks in the library, each holding a beer, although neither of them had taken a sip. Dean felt sick with guilt, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't so much as move when his cell phone rang. Thirty seconds passed with the shrill ringtone filling the air before it went quiet. A moment later, however, it rang again, and Sam glared over at him.

"Are you going to answer that or not?"

"No," he said. Sam stood up, swiped the phone from the table and answered it curtly, still watching Dean in exasperation, but as the person on the other end began to speak, he met Dean's eye and his expression changed to worry. "What is it?" Dean asked.

"Hold on," Sam said to the person on the phone, lowering it from his face to speak to Dean. "It's Mrs. Warren, Annabelle's mom."

"Annabelle's parents are dead," Dean frowned.

"Well, I have a lady on the phone who sounds pretty confident she isn't dead," Sam snapped, his earlier annoyance at Dean filtering through into his words. He raised the phone to his ear again and listened, occasionally making little noises of assent or understanding, his frown becoming more and more pronounced as the conversation continued. Meanwhile, Dean tried to work out why Annabelle had lied to him about her parents. If her parents weren't dead, it meant none of her story was true; she hadn't just moved in with Dean for protection, she actually loved him, and she had sent him away anyway.

"Dean," Sam said after another moment, and that one word carried the weight of a hundred, and Dean's heart plummeted.

"What's wrong?"

"Annabelle was hit by a car about an hour ago."

"Is she okay?" Dean found himself suddenly on his feet, cold dread clenching his chest.

"She's still in surgery, they reckon she'll be in there for another six hours at least. Her parents are stuck in Alaska, and they won't be able to get to her for a while. The hospital had you down as an emergency contact so Mrs. Warren wants to know if you can be there for Anna when she wakes up." Before Sam had even finished, Dean had pulled his car keys from his pocket and was halfway to the door.

"Wait for me!" Sam called, hastily reassuring Mrs. Warren that they were on their way and rushing to the door after Dean.

* * *

 **A/N Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have a couple of alternate endings in mind for this story and I'm conflicted. Has Dean hurt Cas too badly to ever repair their relationship? Could he ever be happy without him? Or by some miracle can they still get their happily ever after? What do you think?**


	7. Judgement Day

Dean made the seven hour journey to Pike County, Illinois in just over five hours, breaking several speed limits and a few other laws along the way. They didn't talk much for the majority of the journey, except when Sam would call the hospital for an update on Annabelle's condition. Each time he called, the receptionist grew a little more impatient, because the news was always the same: 'She's still in surgery, we'll call you when we have any news'.

After what felt like days driving along Route 36, they passed a road sign informing them that they were only ten miles from the hospital, and their proximity seemed to force Sam to say something that had been on his mind since they stepped into the car.

"Can I have thirty seconds where I'm not your brother, and you can't hate me for what I'm about to say?" Dean glanced over at him, curious but wary.

"Okay…"

"Cas never told me what happened between you two. No matter how much I asked, he wouldn't tell me why you left or why he'd been so upset, but I could tell he was suffering. No matter how much of a brave face he puts on, he's been through hell while you've been living out here."

"You know, it wasn't always a picnic for me eith-"

"Shut up, I'm not done," Sam cut in. "I know you were doing what you thought was right, in your own scared, confused, moronic kind of way, but the long and short of it is, you protected your own feelings at the expense of his. I want you to be happy Dean, it's all I've ever really wanted, but you have to put Cas first for a while. You owe him that."

"I'm trying, Sammy," he sighed, frustrated. "I just don't know what else to do, and frankly, he's not at the top of my priority list right now." Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not saying he isn't important," Dean said, his temper fraying under Sam's judgemental gaze. "God knows I love him, but he's not on death's door right now; Anna is, so forgive me if I'm not thinking about mending bridges when my girlfriend is lying in a hospital."

"I thought she broke up with you?" Sam's brow raised even further. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly stopped himself short, an expression of sad realisation dawning on his face.

"Fine, ex-girlfriend," he muttered. "Force of habit, whatever." Sam continued to watch him for a moment, apparently weighing up what he was going to say next.

"You have to make a choice, Dean," he said finally. "For your sake, and for Anna's, and Cas'. You have to choose."

"I'm pretty sure your thirty seconds are up," Dean said, staring stonily ahead at the road.

Ten minutes later, they were entering the front door of the hospital. A receptionist gave them directions to the ICU and they hurried along several identical corridors until they reached the large automatic doors of the Intensive Care Unit. There was a small group of doctors standing outside Annabelle's room, and they all turned to look at Dean as he entered.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She's okay," said one of the doctors with short, red hair. Dean had met her once before, she was a surgeon like Anna, but he was too distracted and worried to remember her name. "She'll be awake soon, you can go in."

The group of surgeons parted to let Sam and Dean into the small, private room. Annabelle was lying, still unconscious, on a narrow bed, her freckled skin scraped and bruised, and her right leg immobilised in a cast. Dean stopped a few feet from the bed, too shocked to advance any further. The last time he had seen her she was fine, and now…

Sam put a comforting hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the hospital bed where Dean sat robotically down in the chair by the bedside and took Anna's warm hand in his, the only part of her body he was confident he could touch without hurting her. Sam sat on the other side of the bed and they watched in silence as she breathed slowly in and out. The afternoon sunlight was streaming through the single window, making Annabelle look even paler amongst the thin white sheets. Twenty minutes dragged by before Annabelle began to stir at last.

"I'll be outside," Sam said, rising from his chair, obviously not wanting to intrude. "Call me if you need anything." Dean nodded, not taking his gaze off of Anna. She opened her eyes, but she was too groggy and exhausted to really know where she was. After several minutes, she managed to prop herself up stiffly against the pillows and look at Dean, only really registering his presence for the first time.

"Hey," she croaked, clearly surprised to see him there.

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately.

"Fine," she said, despite being anything but fine. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm still down as your next of kin," he explained. "They called me after the accident." She just nodded, her eyes still a little cloudy.

"Do you know who hit you?" Dean asked.

"Mr. Barber." She stared slightly beyond Dean with unfocused eyes as she remembered the accident.

"Which one?"

"Henry, Mrs. Barber's husband...the one she cheated on. He was really drunk, and he just came out of nowhere, I didn't even-" Her voice caught in her throat, and Dean held her hand tighter in his.

"Don't worry about it now," he assured. "You're okay."

"Do you know if he's alright?"

"Honestly, I never thought to ask," Dean frowned.

"I tried to help him, I got up and tried to treat his injuries, but he was in a bad way…"

"You got up?" Dean asked incredulously, looking at her bruised and bandaged body, her broken leg immobile on the bed.

"I was only unconscious for a second after he hit me," she explained. "I know I should have stayed still, but there wasn't another doctor nearby, and I had to check that he was okay."

"You got hit by a speeding drunk guy who almost killed you, and you just stood up and saved his life?" Dean asked, as if repeating it more slowly would make it more credible.

"It was just the adrenaline…and instinct, I guess," she shrugged. "I was probably just in shock."

"Don't be modest," he said, "you're a freaking hero." She smiled slightly, but it fell still again with a slightly pained expression on her face.

"I'm sorry you had to be here," she whispered after a moment, readjusting herself tentatively on the bed. "Especially after I basically kicked you out."

"Are you kidding?" Dean scoffed. "There's nowhere I'd rather be right now." She smiled and gave a long, slightly shaky sigh, as if all her damaged, aching muscles were trembling in protest. "But, since you brought it up," Dean continued, "you're mom's pretty nice for a dead woman." Annabelle looked confused for a second before an expression of apologetic comprehension dawned on her face.

"I'm sorry I lied, but I know you, Dean. You'd never have left if I hadn't told you all that stuff. When Cas came round to drop off that jar of water, I practically begged him to tell me about your life before you came to Illinois. He told me about hunting, and monsters, and how you basically save the world every couple of years."

"I don't, not really."

"Don't be modest," she chided and Dean smiled. "I used bits and pieces of what he told me to make all that stuff up about Shifters killing my parents, because I didn't know how else to convince you to go. You would have lived with me for the rest of your life if I'd let you, and you would never have been happy."

"I was happy," Dean insisted. "I really was."

"But not as happy as you would be with Cas," she said sadly. "Your old life in Kansas with Sam…that's the life you were born for, and I could see it every time Sam came to visit. You miss it. You need it, and you need Cas, too."

"I don't think it matters anymore. I've messed everything up," Dean sighed. "I don't think I'll ever see Cas again, I've disappointed Sam more times than I can count, and now I've lost you, too."

"Don't be stupid," she scolded, a glimpse of her old self flashing across her bruised face. "You haven't lost me. But you can't live with one foot in each world, Dean." He gave a non-committal nod. "For what it's worth," she added, "Cas will forgive you, and Sam is only disappointed because he worships you; that's his fault for thinking you're infallible, not yours. You're human. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I don't know what to do," Dean failed to keep the note of sadness from his voice, rather selfishly looking for comfort from Annabelle when he should have been the one comforting her.

"Nothing," she said, sighing slowly, her eyes growing heavy with medication and fatigue. "Right now, you don't need to do anything. Just sit here with me." He nodded, feeling pathetically child-like in his confusion, and he sat holding her hand as she drifted into an exhausted slumber.

Dean didn't move for a long time, savouring the familiar comfort of being around Annabelle. Whenever he was with her, it was as if the weight of his problems, the expectations, the guilt, the worry, all disappeared. He knew perfectly well that he was hiding from the choice he had to make, but that didn't stop him. Being with her felt safe.

An hour or so later, he let go of her hand so he could rest his head on the edge of the bed. Annabelle shifted slightly under the thin white sheets, and he felt her hand on his head, her fingers combing gently through his hair like she had done a hundred times before. Within seconds, he was asleep.

* * *

No one disturbed them for a while as they slept, until a nurse had to check Annabelle's vitals. Once they were awake, Annabelle was constantly bombarded with well-wishes from her friends and colleagues at the hospital, most of whom Dean knew, but a few he didn't. Sam came by a few times too, occasionally bringing Dean cups of coffee and having short conversations with Anna, but for the most part he left them alone. In the few hours that Dean sat there, every nearby surface had become engulfed in get well soon cards and vases of flowers. Around midnight the visits became less frequent and the couple got a few minutes of peace, so Dean took the opportunity to ask a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind.

"How did I go a whole year without knowing a single thing about your parents?"

"We haven't spoken in about five years now," she said, staring at her hands as she fiddled absent-mindedly with a thread on the sheets. "My dad cheated on my mom… it had been going on for two years before we found out. _Two years_ he'd been sleeping with another woman, and it took my mom about three seconds to forgive him. I've never been able to work out if that makes her a saint or just stupid. Either way, I couldn't forgive him, and I was so angry at my mom that as soon as I finished med school, I moved out here. They moved to Alaska a couple months later, and that was that. We made some attempts at contact over the years, but after a while we just stopped."

"I'm sorry. That must suck," Dean grimaced.

"Hey, at least they're not dead," she smiled. She watched him closely for a few seconds before she spoke again. "So, are you going to tell me exactly what happened with Cas?"

"C'mon, Anna, I can't talk about that with you. It's not fair. None of this has been fair to you."

"Dean, I am so high on pain meds right now that I don't think I'll remember this in a half hour. Just tell me what's going on inside your head. Talk to me; I want to help."

"I've been selfish," he admitted after a moment of hesitation. "And I'm confused and worried and all I know is that Cas needs to come first."

"No, he doesn't," she said plainly. "You do. The only thing you need to ask yourself is if you want to be with Cas to make _him_ happy, or because _you_ actually love him."

Before Dean could answer, another friend of Annabelle's entered wearing navy blue scrubs, a stethoscope looped around his neck. Dean recognised him as Chris, an orthopaedic surgeon around the same age as Anna. He had come round to their house for a barbecue a few months previously, and he and Dean had spent the whole time manning the barbecue and discussing classic cars. Dean rose and shook his hand.

"Hey, man, how's it going?" Chris greeted before turning his attention to Annabelle. "Two things: your parents called; they finally got a flight so they'll be here tonight. Second thing, Mr. Barber just woke up. He had a brain bleed and a broken vertebra, but Jenny from neuro fixed him up. She says you saved his life; I say you were a complete idiot." Annabelle tried to keep her expression serious, but Dean could see a little smile pulling at her lips. Chris shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "What the hell were you thinking, getting up after an accident like that? Do you know how close you came to losing your leg?" She apologised but Dean could tell she wasn't sorry at all.

"I was just doing my job," she shrugged. Chris's pager began to beep and he just shook his head again and left.

"You might not know this," Dean smirked, "but there's this unspoken rule that if you get hit by a speeding car, you don't actually have to do your job."

"I know," she said, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. "But it's a part of my life, you know? I can't just switch it off."

"Yeah, me neither."

Annabelle lifted her head again to look at him, forcing a smile on to her face that didn't quite mask the sadness in her eyes.

"You've made your decision," she said quietly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I guess I have."

"My parents will be here soon," she cleared her throat and looked brightly up at him. "You can go if you want."

"Nah, I'll stay til they get here. I don't want to leave you by yourself."

"I have a dozen friends in this building, all of whom are surgeons," she insisted. "I'm going to be fine."

"Yeah, but-"

"Dean," she interrupted, more firmly this time. Her jaw stiffened as she fought to hold back the tears that were creeping into her eyes. "I need you to go." As she spoke, he realised that she had, at last, come to the end of her supply of understanding and patience. Dean stood slowly and pulled on his jacket.

"I really do love you, Anna," he said.

"I know," she replied. "I do too, but I'm not going to be your consolation prize."

"You were never that," he said, taking one last, long look at the beautiful face he had seen every single day for the past year. He looked into the dark brown eyes he had seen glittering with mirth so many times before as they chased each other around the house, or got into food fights in the kitchen. He looked at her lips, and thought of all the times he had made her smile, all the times he had grabbed her and kissed her as she walked past him in their living room, all the long conversations they had had lying in bed, warm limbs overlapping under the covers as they talked about everything and nothing. "You were never that."

He left the hospital room and headed to the lobby, passing Sam on the way but not stopping to talk to him. His brother fell into step behind him.

"What happened?"

"You were right," Dean said. "I had to make a choice and I did. It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I'm sorry," was all that Sam said. It wasn't until they crossed the parking lot and got into the Impala that Dean spoke again.

"If I'd never met Cas, I'd have married that girl," he said, looking back at the hospital in his rear view mirror.

"But you did meet him," said Sam.

"Yeah and the son of a bitch turned my life upside down, and now I can't live without him," Dean muttered.

"Well, now what?" Sam asked. Dean took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition.

"Now I'm going to get Cas back."


	8. Moments

**A/N I really hope you enjoy the final chapter! Thank you to my beta Fellowship-of-the-Hobbit for keeping me right. Merry Christmas.**

* * *

November 16th

Dean had been so caught up in his resolve to patch things up with Cas, that he had forgotten he agreed to give the angel some space. It wasn't until an hour into the journey home that the realisation hit him, and his breakneck driving slowed.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

"Sure," Dean said, a little too quickly to be convincing.

"How exactly do you plan on getting Cas back?"

"Right now, I'm not going to do anything," he said. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again. "I hate this," he muttered. "I know Cas needs space, and I know I'm the last person he wants to see, but all I want to do is make sure he's okay."

"He will be," Sam comforted. "It might take a while, but he will be. Just give him time."

"But will he ever forgive me?" This time Sam didn't answer.

With a couple of stops along the way, the journey home took almost the whole day. It was evening when Dean parked the car in front of the smooth, arcing silhouette of the bunker and they walked in together. Dean stood at the top of the stairs, looking blankly over the railing at the bunker below and let out a long sigh.

"You okay?" Sam asked, his expression concerned.

"Yeah," Dean said hastily, flashing his brother a smile. "It's just good to be home." Sam looked relieved as he headed down the stairs, but once his back was turned, Dean's smile fell.

Sam made them both a grilled cheese and they sat together for a few hours, flicking through the TV channels, never really settling on anything to watch.

When one of the large grandfather clocks chimed one o'clock in the morning, Dean bade his brother goodnight and headed for his bedroom. He pushed the door open and switched on the light, looking around the familiar room. The bed looked exactly as it did the day he left twelve months before, the corners of the sheets folded and tucked with military precision. In fact, everything was just the way he had left it, except for the pile of spell ingredients still laid out across his desk. Dean picked up the trash can by the door and swept the mess into it, his sleeve mopping up the leftover liquid that had pooled on the desktop. He undressed, folded his shirt and jeans and laid them over the chair, but he couldn't face sleep without at least trying to talk to Cas. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up to the ceiling, as if that would make his prayers more audible.

"Hey, Cas," he started, with no idea whether or not the angel would hear him. "I know I said I'd give you space, so that's what I'm going to do. I just want you to know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk. Or not, it's your call. But I'm here, and I really want us to work, Cas, more than anything. Don't give up on me."

With that, he climbed under the covers, clicking off the light on his bedside table. But the familiar bed wasn't enough to comfort him, and he lay awake for several hours, finding himself missing his bed in Illinois and the warmth of another body beside him.

* * *

January 28th

Christmas and the New Year passed unobserved as Sam and Dean worked back-to-back cases. Dean welcomed the abundance of creatures to kill, because it was one of the only things that stopped him thinking about the fact that he hadn't heard from Cas in two and a half months.

Sam and Dean sat together at the breakfast table, Sam eating a slice of toast, Dean with his arm in a cereal box. "Looks like there's a Skinwalker in Colorado," Sam said, stifling a yawn and showing Dean an article he had pulled up on his laptop. "Want to go get it?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, immediately standing up and hurrying from the kitchen to get his bag.

"I didn't mean right this second!" Sam called.

Dean shook his head as he reappeared, throwing his bag down on the table and pulling on his jacket. "I'm going crazy just sitting here."

"We've been home for three hours," Sam complained.

"Suck it up, Sammy," Dean said, turning for the hall, but he froze in surprise and relief when he saw a man standing in the doorway.

"Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

Sam left the room to give them some privacy, but not before he clapped Cas heartily on the shoulder as he passed. "It's really good to see you," he smiled. Cas just nodded, never taking his eyes off of Dean.

Dean said nothing, standing still as a statue, as if his smallest movement might scare Cas away again.

"How have you been?" Cas asked, his voice stilted.

"Uh, okay," Dean faltered. "All things considered. You?"

"Fine." A long silence followed in which Dean was sure Cas would be able to hear the sound of his heart hammering nervously in his chest.

"I'm tired, Dean," he said at last, his gravelly voice weary.

"Of what?"

"Of this," Cas gestured vaguely at the space between them and Dean's stomach twisted as he wondered if Cas meant he was ready to give up. "I'm tired of obsessing over who did what to whom, and who hurt whom the most. It's exhausting."

"You got that right," Dean said, risking a small smile which Cas didn't return, but Dean still felt a surge of relief at the angel's next words.

"I'd like to put it all behind us, and I'd like to try to move on."

"I'd like that too," Dean said, but he could tell that Cas was still guarded; there was a distance and a coolness between them that made their conversation feel almost mechanical. But it was something; it was progress.

Cas stayed for a short while before he departed, claiming he had to return to Heaven. Dean didn't know if he was telling the truth or simply making an excuse, but he was so grateful to have had a few hours in Cas's company that it didn't matter. That night when Dean fell asleep in a strange motel room in Colorado, the ever-present knot in his stomach didn't ache quite so badly.

* * *

April 2nd

Dean trudged through the six inches of snow on the sidewalk that crunched loudly under his boots. His breath rose and dissipated into the clear blue sky as he headed for his motel, feeling the pleasant contrast of the sun on his back and the cold breeze on his face. He rounded the next corner to see Cas standing in the snow. It had been two months since they had last spoken, and in his surprise, Dean found himself pulling Cas into a hug before he could even ask what the angel was doing in the middle of Duluth. But as soon as the angel was in his arms, he realised that perhaps he shouldn't have been so forward. He froze, but before he could pull away he thought he felt Cas tentatively hug him back.

"What's up?" Dean stepped back at last. Cas's face gave nothing away; he wore the same serious expression as always, his forehead permanently on the edge of a frown, and Dean became painfully aware that he couldn't remember the last time he had seen him smile.

"I heard you had a case," Cas said simply.

Dean nerves made him speak far more quickly than usual. "It's nothing, really. Just a shifter on the loose. We haven't had a big case all year, actually."

"Yes, the angels are attributing it to your recent absence," he said matter-of-factly. "We're expecting another apocalypse in the near future now that you're hunting again." Dean looked at him in astonishment, and Cas met him with a level, unwavering gaze. But a second later, Cas's lips twitched and he broke into a smile, and it was like seeing the sun shining through the rain. Dean laughed with both relief and surprise as Cas looked at him with something other than disappointment or apathy in his eyes. They walked through the snow together towards the motel where Sam was waiting. It only took them around five minutes and they talked easily as they walked, Dean grinning the entire way.

* * *

November 3rd

It was turning into one of the least eventful years that Sam and Dean could remember, but it was a welcome change. They tackled ninety cases with ease, joined occasionally by Cas. Werewolves, vampires, djinn, shifters, and demons were all dispatched with minimal effort, and, sitting in their dingy motel rooms in the evenings, bruised and battered from their day's escapades, Dean felt almost content again.

When Cas wasn't helping Sam and Dean, he spent the rest of his time in Heaven where order had been more or less restored, which no doubt contributed to the sudden and unprecedented harmony that seemed to reign over the world.

This time, Cas had been gone for almost ten weeks, and although Dean missed him a great deal, he didn't feel the twisting worry in his stomach anymore as he wondered if the angel would ever return. Nevertheless, when Cas walked through the bunker door that afternoon, Dean couldn't help the little surge of pleasure, and the distinct feeling that the weight of the world had just gotten a little lighter.

That night Dean, Sam, and Cas sat around the TV, bickering over what to watch. More accurately, Sam and Dean were bickering, and Cas sat beside Dean, doing his best not to get involved.

"We watched Suits last night," Dean complained, snatching the remote from his little brother.

"I'm sick of Top Gear," Sam retorted, grabbing it back. "It's all we ever watch."

"That's not true, I watch all your stupid cop shows."

"Yeah, and you complain the entire time. I have to re-watch them when you go to bed so that I can figure out what they were saying for the whole damn episode." The brothers continued to argue, but there was no real malice in their quick exchanges. After a few minutes of indecision, they both looked to Cas to cast the deciding vote.

"I have no preference," he said, abruptly extricating himself from the responsibility.

"C'mon," Dean cajoled, "just pick something."

Cas looked awkwardly between the brothers for a few seconds before his gaze landed on Dean. "Fine. Top Gear," he said at last. Dean smirked smugly at his brother, kicking his feet up on to the table in front of him, and putting his arm around the back of the sofa.

"No fair," Sam muttered.

"Top Gear it is!" Dean grinned. Sam groaned, but within a few minutes he was as engrossed in the car show as Dean was, perhaps even more so, as Dean had just become aware of how easy it would be for him to put his arm around Cas's shoulders. Cas was watching the show with a great deal of concentration, which made Dean smile, but before he could dare to move his arm the few inches towards the angel's back, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked down at the screen, suddenly rose to his feet, and walked from the living room.

He strode into the cool kitchen where he stared at the message again, struggling to understand the complex mess of feelings that had risen up inside of him. But as quickly as his mind had fallen into turmoil, it stilled again as Dean felt a gentle hand on his back. He looked around to see Cas was standing beside him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Annabelle just texted me."

"What's she saying?" he inquired.

"She's getting married."

"To whom?"

"Chris Walker. He's a surgeon in her year. We used to hang out sometimes, but he had a girlfriend back then. Good guy." Dean realised suddenly that Cas was standing very close to him. It wasn't unusual for the angel, who had no sense of personal space whatsoever, but it was the first time since Dean had left that Cas hadn't kept a distance from him, subconscious or otherwise.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm glad she's found someone. She deserves to be happy." Dean turned to look at Cas. "I know I am."

* * *

December 20th

Sam and Dean hurried from the Impala through the cold December sleet; it soaked their faces and necks, and dripped unpleasantly under their collars. Dean pushed open the door of the bunker, only to stop dead in his tracks, Sam almost running into the back of him. Dean looked down from the metal balcony to see the bunker had been transformed. The ceiling and doorframes were laced with thousands of gold and white lights, twinkling amongst long, green garlands. Red and gold ribbons adorned every corner, and Dean could just make out a fire burning welcomingly in the fireplace in the library. An enormous fir tree stood in the corner of the entranceway, surrounded by crates, and in amongst the beautiful chaos stood Cas, rifling through the boxes and pulling out more decorations.

"Cas…" Dean breathed. "What is all this?" Cas looked up with slight surprise, as though he hadn't noticed the brothers standing above him.

"I found these boxes in one of the store rooms," he explained. "I know you don't make a big deal of Christmas...I hope you don't mind."

Sam watched as Dean practically bounded down the stairs with the kind of childlike excitement that he had never seen on his face as a child; he had always been so burdened, even when they were little. Dean stopped next to Cas, gazing up at the ten-foot tree. "This is incredible, Cas. Thank you." He patted Cas on the back, but a second later, instead of dropping his arm, he let it come to rest on Cas's shoulder. Sam smiled down from his viewpoint at the two men standing in the hall. Dean's eyes were wide with wonderment at the glittering lights that surrounded the tree and laced every surface, an expression of complete happiness and contentment on his face. Sam noticed that Cas had the very same look in his eyes, but he wasn't looking up at the decorations, he was looking at Dean.

For the next few hours, Sam and Dean helped Cas finish hanging the remainder of the decorations. Dean was rummaging at the bottom of a crate, passing Cas the baubles for him to hang on the enormous tree. He straightened up with an armful of decorations, but Cas wasn't paying attention, so he picked up a little plastic bauble in the shape of a star and threw it at the angel's head.

"Hey!" Cas grunted, turning to see where the shot had come from. Dean grinned but had to quickly duck behind the Christmas tree as Cas returned the projectile with interest. Dean peered around the tree to see where Cas had gone, but almost too late he realised the angel was right behind him. Cas lobbed another bauble at him with a smirk on his face, but Dean's hand shot out and he caught it, and Cas darted around the other side of the tree before Dean could wreak his revenge. His attention was diverted, however, when he heard Sam call him name and looked around to see him standing by the fire, holding out a beer. "I'll be back for you," Dean warned, nodding at Cas.

"Yeah, yeah," the angel smirked, returning to his work. Dean walked over to Sam, accepting the bottle gratefully and turning his back to the fireplace to observe the wonderland before them.

"Do you remember that great summer we had a couple of years ago?" Sam asked out of the blue. "We had a bunch of good cases and spent the rest of the time just hanging out here."

"You mean the summer before I left," Dean clarified, despite Sam clearly trying to avoid saying it.

"Well, yeah," he conceded. "You and Cas were inseparable, always joking and giving each other a hard time, gazing longingly into each other's eyes when you thought the other person wasn't looking…" He gave a knowing raise of his eyebrows.

"I remember," Dean said dryly, taking a sip of his beer to keep the smile from his face.

"This reminds me of that."

"It's the middle of winter," Dean teased.

"You know what I mean. You and Cas, it's like you're back to the way you were."

"Maybe." Dean watched Cas hang the last of the baubles carefully on the tree before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"You realise that Cas isn't going to be the one to make the next move," Sam smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"I know."

"So will you?"

"One day."

"Soon?"

"I don't know."

"I think you should."

"Get off my back, Sammy," Dean said mildly.

"Sorry," he apologised with a smile on his face that said he wasn't sorry at all. "I'm just saying, if you make the first move, Cas will know that you're as invested in things as he is."

"I always assumed one day I would just tell him that I love him," Dean admitted, and Sam looked around, surprised by Dean's sudden openness. "But the closer I get, the scarier it becomes."

"Now you know how Cas felt before he told you he had feelings for you."

"Don't, Sammy," he shook his head sharply. "I think about that every day; I don't need you reminding me." They both went back to watching the angel rummaging in one of the boxes. "Know what's stupid? I think I'm more scared of talking to that guy than I am of a pack of werewolves." He motioned to Cas, who now had a string of Christmas lights looped around his neck.

"You're right," Sam agreed, nodding earnestly. "He's absolutely terrifying." Dean shoved him in the shoulder, secretly pleased to see his brother stumble slightly, despite being a good three inches taller than him.

"I'm serious," Dean said. Sam straightened back up.

"Love is devastating, Dean," he said sagely. "If you don't feel like it could kill you, you're doing it wrong."

"Well, then I'm sure as hell doing it right."

Sam slapped his arm reassuringly, and left him alone with Cas.

Dean approached the angel and picked out three red stockings from one of the boxes by the table. "You want to use these?" he asked.

"Sure," Cas said. Dean laid the stockings out on the table and grabbed a fabric pen that was lying nearby. With a little difficulty he wrote their names across the white furry material at the top. He handed them to Cas who hung each stocking on the mantelpiece; first Sam's, then Dean's, then his. They both stepped back to admire them.

"They look good," Cas smiled.

Dean laughed, observing his blotchy, uneven scrawl. "They look like crap."

"I like them anyway," Cas placated, and something in his voice made Dean look at him. They met each other's eyes, each staring as if there was something they wanted to say, but they were waiting for the other person to speak first.

"Listen, Cas," Dean began, not really sure where he was going. "I don't want to pressure you, but I also don't want you to think that I want us just to be friends. So, you know, if you ever wanted to…I don't know, get a drink, or-"

Cas smiled. "I thought I was supposed to be the socially inept one," he teased. Dean laughed and sighed.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's been yes for a while now," Cas said with a little smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam re-enter the room, but instead of joining them, he stood in the archway between the entrance and the library, looking up at the wall with concern.

"Hey guys, you might want to come see this," he called. Dean approached him, his brother's tone worrying him slightly. Cas followed behind and when they reached the arch they both looked up at the wall where Sam was staring, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dean frowned.

"What?" Sam's face broke into a grin as he nodded again to the wall. Dean looked for a second time and saw that Sam had led them both under a sprig of mistletoe that he had pinned to the wood. Dean felt his cheeks colour, but regardless he held out his hand to Cas. Cas looked at him curiously for a second, before taking his hand, and Dean pulled him in towards him.

Dean shot Sam a half-exasperated, half-grateful glance. He saw his brother watching him proudly, and as he turned to look at Cas, he saw all the warmth and love he felt for the angel reflected back at him in his blue eyes. And in that moment, Dean knew, with absolute certainty, that he was exactly where he should be.


End file.
